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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26612161">Writhe and Ring</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hopetohell/pseuds/Hopetohell'>Hopetohell</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Enola Holmes (2020), Enola Holmes - Fandom, Sherlock Holmes &amp; Related Fandoms</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Blood, Blood and Gore, Caning, Electricity, Gore, Impact Play, Masochism, Nipple Torture, Other, POV Second Person, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Smut</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 05:08:51</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>772</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26612161</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hopetohell/pseuds/Hopetohell</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock’s only got one chance at this, so he’d better make it count.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Sherlock Holmes/Original Character, Sherlock Holmes/You</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>21</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Removal</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>The natural conclusion to the conversation, “what if Sherlock had nipple rings?”</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>They watch to see what you’ll do, perched on the edge of the desk, hand between their legs as they watch you, or more precisely as they watch the beads of blood from a dozen shallow cuts rolling down your belly to soak into your trousers. They watch and wait, to see if you’ll work up the nerve to do what they suggested. </p><p>You’ve only got one shot at this, one chance to feel it, so you make it count. You hook your thumbs into the rings and quickly, before you can lose your nerve, you <em>pull. </em></p><p>And <em>oh </em>when the nipple rings are ripped loose from their moorings it sends such a thrill through you, doesn’t it? It’s completely illogical, this electric pulse that fires straight to your cock, that makes you gasp and whine in pain but more than that in savage ecstasy. </p><p>As you drop to your knees they’re already moving, already reaching for their tools to lay a line of fire across your chest, switch biting into the bisected ruins of your nipples, little specks of blood flying, you’re flying, and if the gasp you made before was ecstatic, the sound that leaves you now is inhuman.</p><p><em>Oh, </em>to lose your skin completely, to leave a wet red man-shaped smear on the floor, and you imagine it, diffusely, through the haze of your mind, sharpness shattered into nothing, into the pure fierce lack of coherent thought. You are burning with it, with this fire that spreads through you, centered on your chest; it is a spark in a  dry wood and when you feel their foot on your back you go down easy, flat on the floor where it hurts, it<em> hurts, </em>the angle is terrible and the splinters are unreal but you lie there arms flat, head turned to the side so when your ruined chest slides against the wood, when the movement tears those perfect gasping sobs from your throat, you both hear them with<em> such </em>clarity. </p><p><em>Was it worth it, </em>they ask, switch trailing soft and sweet over your back, over the bumps and ridges of cuts that lay out a timeline reaching as far back as you can remember, down over your trousers which are going to be ruined, which hide the faintest whitest scar over the swell of your ass, and it bites lines up and over your back until your entire torso front and back is a bright and bloody mess, until they sit straddled across you and grind into the curve of your ass, a grind that drives your cock down to press uncomfortably against the floor. </p><p>Was it worth it?<em> Was it worth it? </em>They ask again, switch abandoned to run their hands up your back, pressing fire onto your cuts, til their hands are bloodying your hair and they lie stretched along the full length of you, hips twitching down and that drives yours down and you are on fire, you are on fire, you are consumed with it. You are drifting up like ash, like embers.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Shocking</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Just a little bonus nipple ring action, when the piercings are still fresh and aching. Totally unrelated otherwise.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Electricity parties were totally a thing (granted, maybe not in this particular time, but it’s nice to think about). Gather round, and experience a mild electric shock. You know, for fun.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The piercings are still fresh, still new; they still hurt where they brush against the inside of his shirt. And at home he can strip down to his shirtsleeves, relieve some of the pressure, but out and about he’s buttoned to the neck, practically straightjacketed into his heavy coat, and the ache is relentless.</p>
<p>He finagles an invitation  to a party, something about a shocking new amusement. It’s not especially important to him; he’s just angling to get a better look at the rhododendrons in the back garden. </p>
<p>But after drinks you all gather in a line holding hands. And you hold Sherlock’s hand in one of yours, the other hand holding a wire. At your command someone flips a switch and you feel the shock travel through you; the partygoers gasp and shriek but it’s more surprising than anything, like a strong static-electricity spark. Sherlock is wide-eyed, curls just a little wilder than they were before, and he shifts, tellingly. </p>
<p>
  <em>Oh.</em>
</p>
<p>And when you’re alone you strip him out of coat, vest, shirt, until he’s naked to the waist, nipple rings shining in the firelight. And<em> that’s </em>an idea. “Be still,” you say, and he is curious so he obeys. He doesn’t move even when you flip the switch and spark the wires, but when you touch them to the rings, he screams, in surprise and pain and an agonizing pleasure that rips right through him. It drops him to his knees and he is kneeling before you, all his cleverness torn away, and all that’s left is shock and want.</p>
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